one man army
by yokono
Summary: heavily influenced by the book and movie lone survivor.
1. Chapter 1

He woke up and immediately felt the heat that surrounded him. That was the norm, though. He'd gotten used to it, it wasn't the first time he'd been deployed to Afghanistan. The heat was the least of their problems here, they'd joke about. They weren't truly joking, just trying to make light of the shit they were stuck in the middle of. They'd chosen this life, they needed to remind themselves. It was the only life they knew now, though. That was his problem now. Every time he returned to the States, to the arms of his loved ones, he thought about where he believed he belonged… On base, out here, with his brothers.

His laptop sat open next to his temporary bed, the number one popping up next to 'inbox'. It was his boyfriend—fiancé, really. He'd proposed a week before being deployed once again. They'd been discussing it for a while, and he hadn't given him much warning. The first line in the message, _I know you're busy, but I thought I'd show you this. _Attached to it was a picture of the couple's cat, Dusty, a gray fuzzball they'd found in a shelter back home in New York. A grin spread across his face, the picture finally downloaded, showing the cat in its Halloween costume. Sebastian couldn't make out exactly what the costume was of, but Dusty didn't seem too pleased to be shoved inside of it.

_Get that poor creature out of that thing before he begins to hate us. Love you_, he quickly replied, then shut his laptop and finally pushed himself out of the bed. The clock read 0500 hours. He'd been here for six weeks and one day, and everything had been going just as planned so far. If it continued to run as smoothly, he'd be out of here in about twenty weeks or so. Sebastian needed to break the habit of worrying about when he'd be going home, because things changed too quickly around here. Who the hell knew what was going to happen.

"Rise and shine, fuckers," he heard Puckerman yelling down the hall, knocking on each and every one of their doors. "Who said y'all could sleep in this late? Got shit to fuckin' do." The shit he was referring to wasn't what most people probably imagined they were doing there. Most assumed they had their riffles around their bodies 24/7, ready to fight at any given moment. While they were ready to fight and always on edge, they took some time for themselves too. To some degree, there was normalcy for the guys in Afghanistan. Reading books, wrestling, drinking, playing poker.

"I'm up," Smythe hollered, generating a few laughs from his officers outside. If he didn't get his ass outside, though, he'd be giving Puckerman a head start. The two raced each morning, through a makeshift obstacle course they'd set up when they first arrived together. Their third year serving together; Sebastian didn't have any siblings, but damn, Puck came real close to being a brother. Noah, Puckerman's first name, which he despised being called by, was someone he fully trusted to have his back. And he had his. He pulled on a pair of pants and stepped into his boots, his usual attire for his morning activities. It was too fucking hot to wear a shirt if it wasn't necessary. The temperature had already reached eighty degrees. "You seem eager to lose," Sebastian snorted, rubbing his eyes and he walked through the dorm, maneuvering around the handful of guys in the narrow halls.

"If you ever want a real challenge, either of you," Hunter started, waving his finger in the air between them. "You'd go up against me."

"You're going to go far, Clarington. I once heard, to succeed in life, you need ignorance and confidence." The young officer had only chuckled, a halfhearted smile on his face in response. He wasn't much younger than Noah and him, but two years is two years. Hunter was good, and his name suited him well. He might just be the best damn sniper the Navy has, even better than himself… Which wasn't easy to admit. But he'd give credit where it was due, especially if it was one of his boys. "Put some clothes on," he nodded in his direction before he turned heel, laughing, and began stepping towards the door, shoulder to shoulder, with Noah.

* * *

Each of them were ordered to report to the room for 1600 hours; it was some poor new guy's presentation to the whole team. Lt. Commander Brody Weston put in the order, as he was in charge of the men. "Today's a good ass day, boys," Weston said as he took a seat next to Noah. "I moved The Kid's introduction to this afternoon so you wouldn't miss it."

"To Operation Blue Balls," Puck announced, holding his mug of coffee high up in the air. Others laughed, clinking their cups and bottles with his, including Sebastian.

"To Operation Black Wings, Lt. Puckerman." Blue Balls felt like a more appropriate title, though. He glanced at his watch; it was quarter after four, and he and his team, SEAL team 5, would be preparing to leave in an hour and a half. Some simple reconnaissance mission. It'd take him and his boys, at least, two days. Noah, Hunter, Sam, and he were going. He took pride in the team he was given.

Everyone knew everyone, mostly. If you didn't know them personally, you knew of them. Some new guy, maybe twenty years old, had arrived here two days ago. Sebastian learned of his name, and that was it. Ryder. Ryder Lynn. He stepped into the room all of them had gathered in, nodding in Weston's direction. "I'm ready, sir."

"Introduce yourself, please."

"Well, I'm petty officer Lynn, and—"

"Can you say it?" Smythe furrowed his brow, leaning back in his seat.

"Listen," Ryder grinned, taking a deep breath. "Been around the world twice, talked to everyone once." We all looked on, gesturing for him to continue. "Seen two whales fuck, been to three world fairs. I even know a man in Thailand with a wooden cock. I've pushed more peter, more sweeter, and more completer than any other peter pusher around. I'm a hard-bodied, hairy-chested, rootin', tootin', shootin', parachutin', demolition double cap crimpin' Frogman." Weston and Puckerman had their fists up in the air, as well as a few other guys, but Sebastian was looking straight ahead at the kid. "There ain't nothing I can't do. No sky too high, no sea too rough, no muff too tough."

"Learned a lot of lessons in my life. Never shoot a large caliber man with a small caliber bullet," Ryder went on, spewing the ballad. He'd rehearsed this more than a few times, Sebastian could tell. "Drove all kinds of trucks. Two bys, four bys, six bys, those big motherfuckers that bend and go _shh, shh_ when you step on the brakes. Anything in life worth doing is worth overdoing. Moderation is for cowards. I'm a lover. I'm a fighter. I'm a UDT Navy SEAL diver. I'll wine, dine, intertwine, and then sneak out of the back door when the refueling is done."

The young man held out his arms, approaching the last bit of the spiel, his eyes trained on the officers in front of him. "If you're feeling froggy, then you better jump, because this Frogman's been there, done that, and is going back for more." The men inside lost it, chanting a bunch more bullshit, and patting the kid on the back. "Cheers, boys!" He had finally finished, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

* * *

He had fifteen minutes left. Fifteen minutes to speak to Blaine.

"Who's this?" He had answered immediately.

"Darling."

"I hoped…" There was silence. Neither of them were this good at discussing what they wanted to say during these times. Sebastian fought the urge to cry most times.

"I miss hearing your voice," he said quietly. _Mmhm_, he heard coming from Blaine's end. "Did you ever take the cat out of that horrid contraption you think is a costume?" This got him a laugh, at least. He could feel some of the tears welling in his eyes, now. He missed Blaine always, but when he heard his voice over the line, he realized how much he truly missed him.

"I did, I promise. What's going on over there?"

"I, uh—I'm going to be away for a few days. From the base, I mean. I'm leaving soon. I just, you know, the usual. I love you, and I want you to know that I'm not ignoring you or something worse if you don't get an email back or call."

"Oh." Blaine never fully understood the extent of what Sebastian did, nor his rank or even what team he was a part of. "It's nothing dangerous, is it?"

"What date are you thinking for the wedding?" He toyed with the papers in his hands, looking through the things Blaine had sent him with pictures of locations to hold the wedding. Even photos of houses he'd been looking at in the suburbs. Sebastian printed everything, keeping the pages inside of his jacket during this trip. Most of what he'd be doing on the field would give him more than enough time to go through all of it.

"We can pick a date when you get back, but—" He could hear Blaine shifting, moving the phone around. "Are you going to call me the second you get back?"

"Of course," Sebastian breathed, running a hand over his face. "I love you."

"I love you, too," and he sniffled. Maybe it was cruel to do this to him, but someone needed to fight for their country. Why not him?

"Everything's going to be alright, okay? I'm going to be alright, the boys are going to be alright. We're alright."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise," he said softly. "When I get back, we're going to see some god awful musical that you love at the theater down the street after I take you to out to that Japanese place for dinner, alright, babe?"

Blaine sighed. "It's a date, yeah," he chuckled lightly, but Sebastian could tell by his voice, he was crying. "I love you. Don't forget that, okay? I love you."

"I know, I won't. I love you, too. I have to go, though. Bye," he said miserably, his fiancé responding with the same tone as he said his goodbyes. In truth, he still had time. At least five minutes, but he needed that time to himself. To just breathe.

* * *

"So, guys, it's, uh, nineteen hundred hours," Puckerman began, looking at his watch. "Evans, I want you wherever you can get the best connection. Wherever the fuck that is, you let me know. That's where we're camping out tonight. Go." He waved his hand out, gesturing for Sam to go off and find a good spot while the rest of them searched the area to guarantee they were alone in the woods.

"Clarington, follow him," Sebastian ordered, patting the second class officer on the back as he moved forward to join the other.

"How are you feeling about this, Smythe?"

"Fine," he shrugged his shoulders, lifting his binoculars that hung around his neck to his eyes. He wasn't sure what Noah wanted to hear, or how he was supposed to feel about this. It didn't feel any different than the rest of the missions the pair had been on together. He focused in on what he could see down below, which wasn't much. A few fires, and people huddled around them for light and heat. Nothing out of the ordinary, but they'd see what the morning would bring.

A branch cracked nearby, to the left of Sebastian; he immediately dropped his binoculars, and raised his gun, ready to fire. "It's a fucking goat," Noah cackled. "The Tali wouldn't like that much. Forget being American. If you kill a goat, you're really fucked."

"I think that's cows and India," he added. "But that's not good. If he's part of a herd, there can be more, or someone may come looking. Higher ground. Let's find those dumbasses."

"Sure thing, Doc," he nodded, following after him. "How's Blainers?"

"Just peachy," he said, glancing around. He was trying to get a good feel about where they were and what they were making their home for the next few days. Sebastian wasn't up for small talk at the moment. "So was Rachel," Puck commented sarcastically, picking up some stick and using it as a cane of some sort. It reminded Sebastian of Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings.

"Peachy and pregnant?"

"I wish. She wouldn't talk to me, actually." He jumped on top of one of the larger rocks, then onto another one as we continued up the side of the mountain. "Which I think is best for both of us," he added. "She doesn't know what I'm doing, so it saves her some stress, and for me, I don't have to hear about it. Nor do I have to stay on the phone and listen to her cry. I just talked to Sophia," Sebastian's goddaughter, "and my mother. I had to talk to someone. You know, if anything."

If anything went wrong and we didn't end up going home, yeah. He knew. He knew all too well what Puckerman meant.

* * *

The sun shone bright onto them through the leaves and branches that covered them, letting them know they had made it through the night and into the morning. Noah and Sebastian had camped out next to each other, huddled next to a large bush. Looking to his right, a good thirty- or forty yards away, Smythe could see part of the barrel of Clarington's sniper rifle peeking out from a mass of leaves. "Any word?" He muttered, nudging Noah in the shin. The grunt he received in response told him he'd been the first of the pair to wake, so he needed to check on the other men and establish contact with the base.

In daylight, they'd have to deal with more traffic within the woods on the mountain and also the threat that the enemy could be on watch for any movement. "Evans," Smythe spoke over the radio. "Wake the fuck up, Trouty Mouth." He heard snickering from Puck, who buried his face partially in the dirt.

"Screw you, I am up," he told him. "Gave our location an hour ago."

"Roger that," Sebastian said, yawning. He reached into his jacket pocket, retrieving the papers he'd brought with him and a fruit jerky packet. He'd give his left fucking nut to have breakfast at home right now. Blaine would be half naked, or fully naked, depending on whatever went on the night before. He'd make pancakes, maybe. And bacon, while complaining about the negative effects the sodium could have on his health. Blaine would eat an apple, steal something off of Sebastian's plate, and drink his coffee.

"All these houses," he fingered through the pages, "have multiple bedrooms. I think he's trying to tell me something." He took a bite out of the jerky. "I mean, I'm not against having children. I just don't want to, you understand?"

"Can you get off the radio while you chew?" Clarington asked. "You're making me nauseous."

Noah sighed, running his hands over his dirty face. "I think you're an asshole, and I also think you're going to cave and have kids if he wants them."

"If I do, I'll name them Noah," he said sarcastically. "Pets and children are similar, so maybe he'll be satisfied with a litter of pup—" Sebastian held his hand up, glancing at Noah. The pair gave each other the same worried look. There were noises, and they were growing louder as they approached them. "Twenty yards," he said, waiting for Noah to nod to show he understood. "Hold your fire, boys. Let them pass."

Sebastian hoped to fucking God that the two listened to him, because neither Puckerman nor he were there to watch their actions. He pulled his rifle up, resting it across his chest as he gripped it tightly in his hands. This is not how this fucking operation was supposed to go. "What the fuck is this?" He whispered, screwing his eyes shut. He couldn't bear to look anymore. He just prayed they'd pass through without a problem, so none of them would have to kill a group of children.

"Fuck," he growled, one of the teenagers hiking up the mountain stepped right on Sebastian's ankle. The whole fucking thing was compromised by some fucking twelve year olds.


	2. Chapter 2

The mission had been planned out carefully for the past six weeks. Marines had planned the overall operation, but the SEALs mapped out the specifics of their roles within Black Wings. The four of them would go in, gather enough information and determine if two leaders within the Taliban were located in the village nearby. Taraq and Ahmad Shah. Shah was responsible for the killing of thirty soldiers the week before, and if he wasn't terminated as soon as possible, there could be thirty more the next week, and possibly more after that. Smythe had suggested they stay close to friendly forces, hanging out just behind the Shuryek Valley on Sawtalo Sar Mountain. The closer they were to a place they could seek refuge, the safer his team would be.

Lieutenant Noah Puckerman and Hospital Corpsman Sebastian Smythe were the leaders of SEAL team 5, and Petty Officers Hunter Clarington and Samuel Evans brought up the rear. Clarington would be dealing specifically with capturing images and recording intelligence, and Evans would handle the communication with the combat operations center. They'd handle the reconnaissance and surveillance for two or three days, then they'd be out of there once the SEAL direct action team and Marines took over. They'd carry out the rest of it and burn the fucking guys. But it was obvious now, a day into the operation, that this wasn't going to go the way they had planned.

"The way I look at it," Puckerman began saying. "We have three choices, guys. One, we let them go, they're unarmed, and we hike as far as we can up the mountain. Though the Tali will most likely be on our asses within two hours." Sebastian wasn't listening any further, because that's what needed to be done in his opinion. Rules of engagement say you cannot kill an unarmed man. They were unarmed prisoners at this damn point. He didn't like the sound of any of this bullshit. "Two, we keep these motherfuckers tied up and get up the hill and cancel the mission." That could've been another option, but CNN would roast their fucking asses for some shit like that.

"Yeah, so some fucking animals can pick the meat off their damn bones," Sam said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "They're kids, man. The oldest one here," he nodded in direction to the tallest villager who sat there, glowering at them. "He's maybe, what, sixteen fucking years old?"

"No, fuck that. Look at him, he's a fucking soldier. Look at all of them. They hate us."

Sebastian bit his tongue, folding up the papers he'd been browsing through and shoving them back into his jacket pocket. This wasn't up for fucking debate between these two, because they weren't the ones going to be held responsible when something went wrong. "Eyes down. Don't you fucking look at him. Eyes down," he heard Hunter telling the kids, motioning towards his eyes and then to the ground to show them. "What's this? What the fuck is this?" He questioned, yanking something out of the youngest one's hands. "You got a fucking phone. You calling the fucking Taliban, kid?"

"And three," he said, "we eliminate the compromise."

Each of the men glanced at the lieutenant, nodding. That was another option, but it wasn't the right thing to do. Not in Sebastian's eyes. "Nah," Smythe spoke up. "You know how it'll look. You know they'll be found. The fuck are we supposed to do when we kill them, Puck? Bury them? That'll look even fucking worse." He could tell by the look on Noah's face that he was, in fact, deciding whether or not he was right. Not that it was anyone's business what the fuck they did there, or anyone's right to judge, but they didn't need to get fucked over for this crap. "We're not going down for this shit," he added, speaking direct to Puckerman.

"Well, you're the fucking boss, so make the fucking call," Hunter spoke to Sebastian, clutching his knife in his hand. If they were going to terminate them, they'd have to make it silent.

"The rules say we cannot touch them," Smythe spoke quietly. "They are unarmed and they are prisoners."

Officer Evans nodded along as he spoke. "While I know that, I don't fucking care, Smythe," he began to say. "I care about all of you, myself, and I care about my fucking family. I don't want Quinn turning on the fucking computer and seeing our damn bodies piled on top of each other on Al Jazeera," Sam paused for a moment. It looked like he was about to breakdown and start sobbing, and none of them could blame him. He had his children to worry about. "Let's fucking get Shah, and call this a successful goddamn op, alright? You want to fucking sit around and vote on this, then—"

"There's no voting," Puckerman moved to stand in between all of his men. "This is what we're going to do; we are going to release them, hike back up the mountain. Evans, you're going to make some form of damn contact with Weston. They're going to come in, we're getting back on the 'copter, and we'll have to attempt this mission some other time. You hear me?"

"Who do you think that phone is for, huh? These motherfuckers ain't trying to order pizza, let me fucking tell you. They're with the Taliban, Puck."

"I know what the phone is for," he told Clarington, not masking the irritation in his voice.

"You told us to make the fucking call, so now you got your fucking orders, man. Listen and shut the fuck up." That was Hunter's fault. He didn't know when the fuck to just listen and do what he was told. There was a reason he wasn't in charge of anyone.

"Roger that."

Sebastian wasn't an idiot. He wasn't letting them go until he knew they had a way out of there. "Sam, get that going," he ordered. "I want an extract put in motion now." Sebastian put his head in his hands for a moment, feeling Noah's hand rest on his shoulder. They still had time to kill these kids, but he was positive that wasn't the way to go. "Fuck," he shook his head, breathing heavily. "We're going to have two-hundred fucking Hajis on our backs."

"I knew this fucking op wasn't going to go well. I fucking knew it," Noah said, shaking his head as Evans repeated the same thing for the fifth time. _Miller base, this is Miller zero-one_. They weren't going to get a response, they had no fucking signal.

"I can't believe this is seriously fucking happening."

Sebastian unstrapped the satellite phone from Noah's holster, ignoring the look the man was shooting at him. It was an unsecured line, but Jesus Christ, they needed to get the fuck out of here before this got real fucking ugly. "Come on. Fuck," he cursed, grinding his teeth together. He heard a dial tone, though the static over the line didn't sound too promising.

"Sergeant St. James," he barely heard.

"Sergeant, this is Corpsman Smythe. I need Commander Weston."

"Commander Weston isn't here, sir."

"I know, he's at Bagram. I don't have his direct number."

"Do you want me to transfer you?"

There wasn't much left in the world that he was fearful of, but he felt himself becoming sick to his stomach with worry as each second passed. Sebastian replayed all of the possible outcomes over and over in his head, and Blaine, how the fuck was he going to handle this? He put up a good front, he'd seen it before. But he knew just how fucking fragile Blaine truly was. Thank God he'd be gone, though. He wouldn't have to see him in that state. It was so fucking selfish of him, and he knew it, but he wouldn't be able to handle seeing him breakdown. He'd feel nothing once he was gone, but Blaine, his mother, and maybe a few others who knew him would feel fucking terrible.

"Yes."

* * *

They hadn't made communication with Miller 01 in over four hours, which wasn't shocking to them. They'd planned for this, which is why they'd decided not to issue any sort of alert if they missed one or two windows when they were supposed to check in. Ryder sat, unamused and exhausted, at his temporary desk at the Bagram communication center. Without any word from their team out there, they hadn't much to do. The phone that sat on Lt. Commander Weston's desk began ringing, which wasn't unusual, but he wasn't present at the moment. Ryder reached his arm over, grabbing the phone before anyone else could have. "Bagram," he said. "Petty Officer Lynn."

"Lynn, kid, hey. This is Smythe," he explained. "I need you to get me the skipper."

"This connection sucks ass."

"Get me the fucking skipper, Lynn."

"He's asleep."

"So you wake him the fuck up," Sebastian told him. He opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it instantly, and took off in the direction of the dorms. It suddenly clicked in his head; there was a fucking problem.

"Commander Weston," he said quietly, hesitating to knock on his room door at first. "I'm sorry, sir, but this is an emergency, I swear." Commander Weston didn't ask anything of the boy when he opened the door. "Smythe is on the phone right now, and he told me to wake you up, he needs to speak to you, sir. I would've woke you up sooner, I promise, but I didn't think. You know, we said we'd wait if we had communication problems." Brody pushed right past him, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shuffled, half-asleep, towards the center of the base.

"This phone?" He asked, pointing to the one hanging off the hook on his desk. Lynn nodded, and he picked up the phone immediately. "Seb," Weston said, grabbing a pen off of his desk. "Hey, Sebastian?" There was no response on the other end of the line. "Smythe, speak to me—Fuck, the line is dead." He slammed the phone back down on the receiver. "Why the fuck do I have Smythe calling me on a satellite phone?" Commander Weston was questioning all of his men right now. "When's the last time they fucking communicated with us. Hudson, fucking tell me."

"Six hundred hours, sir," Officer Hudson answered him. "I can't get through to them at all."

Now, Brody was looking in Lynn's direction, "You." The young man stood tall, waiting for his order. "Call them back for fuck's sake. How fucking useless can you be? Someone contact the J-Bad base and see what the fuck's going on."

* * *

It was no longer looking good. Sam was still fighting to get through to the Miller base, and the call he'd just placed had dropped. "Here's the new plan," he rejoined the pack of them. "Cut them loose, and we're going to get to the peak," which would take them hours, but they had no other choice. "We had signal there last night. Puck?"

"Follow the leader," he grunted, pushing himself off of the ground. Clarington put the knife that was in his hand to work, cutting the ties around the teenagers' hands. One by one, each of them took off, screaming some damn nonsense in Arabic, Arabian, or whatever the fuck it was that they spoke. Telling them to go fuck themselves, Sebastian was sure. "Now," Noah started talking again. "I'll do my best to protect you guys, you know that. But if I can't do that, I'm sorry."

"It's too early for that," Hunter said. "We're trained for this shit, we'll fucking make it, alright?"

Sebastian remained silent, as did the other men. He couldn't stop thinking about Blaine, and he imagined this is what people who were facing death went through. These are the last thoughts you'll ever have, you know? The most important things you experienced throughout your life all flood back to you. Blaine's voice from the day before kept replaying in his head: _I love you. Don't forget that, okay? I love you. _If he had just left him alone all those years ago, he wouldn't be worrying about what he was about the put him through right now, but it was far too late.

* * *

**July 23rd, 2009**

There was almost nothing like a boiling cup of pure caffeine after a run in the morning, Sebastian had come to learn. He'd been stationed in San Diego, California for a good chunk of a year, and he wasn't exactly thrilled to be returning to the East coast in a few months. He'd become a regular at some mom-and-pop coffee shop. Better Buzz, it was called. It was nothing fancy, but he'd enjoyed it far more than any crap Starbucks had to offer. And in addition to its good espresso, the staff wasn't bad to look at either. There was Nick, and then there was Blaine. Two different types, he decided. While Nick was cute, he seemed almost too eager to engage in a conversation with Sebastian. If you didn't have to work for it, where was the fun?

Blaine had a good face and a smile that could disable you temporarily, but that wasn't what made him desirable. He had the perfect combination; ass, sass, and class. "Don't you have anything better to be doing?" He'd asked Sebastian each morning he strolled in, along with making it fairly obvious that his eyes were rolling backwards in his head. Sebastian never thought it'd go anywhere other than flirting, though. And in his mind, the flirting was one-sided. It wasn't mutual to his knowledge. He had nine weeks left in the state and he wasn't looking for a relationship.

He hadn't gone for a run this morning. He had to work in an hour, and he needed a good cup of coffee before dealing with whatever crap he'd be dealt. And the instant coffee that was available to him on base wouldn't work. "Hey," he said quietly, stepping up to the counter. "Double espresso, and give me a large cup of the dark roast."

"Your wish is my command," Blaine muttered, the corner of his lip curling up into a smirk. Maybe he didn't get some joy out of being an asshole to him.

"Thank you. You're such a doll." He snorted at that, shaking his head as he prepared the drinks. "Just you this morning?"

"Nick's not here. I'm truly sorry to disappoint you, and that'll be three dollars and ninety-six cents. Who's the other drink for?"

He handed him a ten dollar bill, and like always, let him keep the change. "Myself, why?"

"I can't be curious?" Blaine furrowed his brow, then took a sip of his own coffee. "I hope you don't have a caffeine overdose, because you leave good tips, and it'd be sad to see those go."

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know. I'm planning on having a rough day at work, so I need all the help I can get."

"What do you do again?"

"I'm in the Navy," he told him. "When I'm working in the States, it's mostly a bunch of bullshit paperwork, suicide prevention courses, and whatever classes they want to taking. The job's great, though. When I'm out there and doing what I trained for. "

"I thought you were some asshole personal trainer." Sebastian didn't say anything, but his facial expression must have. "Nick said you were, that's why. It was something about your body or whatever, I don't know. But he said, you know, looking how you look, there was no way you didn't work for a gym or some fitness thing."

"Looking how I look?"

A blush spread quickly across Blaine's face, and it was something he'd never seen before. He shrugged his shoulders, and didn't say anything. It was a good sign, Sebastian thought. He knew what Blaine meant, though. He was attractive, and he sure as hell knew it. The smug look on his face showed it, too. "Let me take you out for dinner," he said, leaning over the counter.

"What? No. I think you're hot, but I don't date guys like you."

"Like me?" _Ouch_.

Blaine nodded, taking a deep breath. "You know you're good looking, and you use it to your advantage. Your crude behavior proves it, too," he said. "You might think because you have Nick wrapped around your finger that you can have me too, but I'm smarter than that. I will never let someone use me, or try to make me look like a fool. I know what I deserve, which is why I haven't taken you up on any of your half-assed offers yet. I have pride, okay? I'm not going to let you sweet talk me, impress me with the fact that you're in the military, and take my pants off for you the second you ask. You're wasting your time if that's what you think is going to happen."

Each of them remained silent for a few moments, looking at each other. Sebastian had never expected anything of the sort to come out of the boy's mouth, but what the fuck just happened, you couldn't make that shit up. He considered laughing, just thinking about how much thought Blaine must have put into all of that before this morning. He didn't laugh, because he'd put a lot of thought into Blaine. His mouth hung open for a moment as he tried to figure out how the hell to respond to that, but he just couldn't find the words.

"I don't think I made myself clear? I don't know," he started. "I want to take you to dinner, not take your pants off. And you should forget about Nick, because he's not someone you should be jealous of."

"Just dinner?" Sebastian nodded. Blaine sighed and reached for a piece of paper, shaking his head as he did so. It took a second or two for Sebastian to realize what the other was doing, and once he did, a cheeky grin quickly spread across his face. "Don't look so happy, because I'm only doing this because I feel bad for you."

"You and I both know that isn't true." And he smiled, that smile that made Sebastian weak for a moment as he handed the paper with his information on it to him.

"Goodbye, Sebastian."


End file.
